Hollow Moon
by AmazinglyMediocre
Summary: Lost in the zombie apocalypse, Adam is left for dead. Inspired by "Hollow Moon" by AWOLNATION. **being revamped**
1. Chapter 1

"Alright, where to next?" Max asked as I slung my backpack over my shoulder. It was just a little bit heavier than when I had set it down in the first place. This house was a bust. Two and a half bars of soap, one unopened toothbrush, some travel-size shampoo bottles, and a mostly gone stick of deodorant. All the clothing was worthless or already gone, and the food was absolutely rotten through. I shrugged and started out the front door.

"We'll go wherever our little hearts desire," I replied. The two of us were halfway across the front yard when I noticed we were missing a certain human. "Wait, we forgot Anthony." I hurried back to the front steps and stuck my head through the door. "Yo, Anthony! Come out front!" I hopped off of the porch and waited, Max keeping close to my side.

"You think he'll ever come out of this?" Gonzalez finally murmured. He wasn't referring to the house.

I glanced over at him. "I don't know," I let out a long breath, "He's been the same ever since the Fall." And, as if on cue, Anthony shuffled out of the house. His tired eyes scanned the street and then settled on us. He quietly walked over and stuffed his hands into his pockets.

"We're just going to go next door and look for more junk," I said, turning to go. He nodded and slouched after us. He wasn't unlike a zombie, with his eternally pale face and sunken-in eyes and his unfocused, often empty stare. The Fall had taken a toll on him-well, I guess it took a toll on all of us. It had taken everything from him, though. He seemed to be stuck; living, but not really alive.

Our footsteps crunched in the frosty grass as we walked, Anthony trailing behind us. Max whistled tunelessly and watched the white clouds drift from his lips. It was only a matter of time before another snowstorm hit. The first one had been just after the Fall took place and it had killed more than half of New York's population alone. Which, as horrible as it sounds, had been a blessing. Only half of the population was left to become infected.

I paused as the ground rumbled. We were almost to the next house, standing in the narrow space between the two fences. Max took another couple of steps and then stopped. The rumbling stopped as well, but I could see a dip slowly forming under Anthony's feet.

"Chilled, come to me very slowly." I whispered, as if how much noise I made was important. Anthony just stared at me. "This isn't a joke, man. Come here," I waved my hands, trying to show him how urgently he needed to move. The dip was only getting deeper. "You are standing over something very, very bad," I shuffled closer to him and held out a hand.

He glanced at his feet and then at my hand. He looked like a lost little kid in that moment. A crack rang out and the ground gave way underneath him. I lunged, my fingers catching on the edge of his sleeve. Max yelled something, but a roaring sound filled my ears and suddenly I was falling too. Anthony disappeared from my sight and so did everything else. But there was still a scrap of fabric tangled in my fingers. I felt for his hand and grabbed it, holding on for dear life. If we were buried, I couldn't let go of him.

Speaking of buried, I could hardly breathe. Not only were my nostrils full of dust, but the air reeked of something like a mixture of garbage disposal and maybe Diet Coke. Okay, probably not actual Diet Coke, but it was bad. Oh, and it also smelled like dead bodies.

Anyways, back to me being buried alive. I couldn't see, couldn't breathe, all I could taste was dust, my ears were ringing, and my lower half seemed to be in something wet. I think that covers all my senses. And also, I couldn't move. A wonderful situation if you ask me.

Chilled's fingers suddenly came to life and closed in a vice around my wrist. At least he was awake. I closed my eyes and let the waiting begin. Logically, even if Anthony did escape, he and Max would have a heck of a time digging me out. But, then again, Max's hidden mother bear instinct would kick in and he would probably have me out in no time. Speaking of Max, I could barely hear him shouting at me. The dirt and rocks around me vibrated with his footsteps and his voice almost reached my ears. He was probably telling me how stupid I was. And, for the first time in a long time, Anthony was yelling. His fingers clenched and unclenched around my wrist, digging his nails into my skin and making some pretty nice bruises. He suddenly hauled on my arm and I felt cold air against my fingertips. Apparently Chilled had some grizzly mama in him, too.

"Adam! Adam, please talk to me!" Max's deep voice finally came through. At the same time Anthony's grip slipped and his hand was gone. I tried to respond but nothing came out. I guess that was when I panicked. There wasn't enough air around me or outside or in the entire atmosphere that could supply my lungs and it wasn't sewage water my legs were stuck in, it was blood, and it wasn't dirt I was trapped under, it was a pile of bodies. A strangled cry left my throat and immediately I felt some of the weight being lifted. Fingers found my cheek a moment later and the dirt was scooped away, allowing the frigid air to meet my face. I gasped for air while more junk was pushed away from my neck.

"Oh, thank God," Max breathed. "Chilled, he's alive." Thumbs ran along my eyelids, getting rid of the dust that had caked my eyelashes and clung to my skin. I squinted in the gray light and found a concerned face peering down at me.

"Uh, hi," I rasped. I glanced down to find that I was still half-buried in the rubble; Max and Anthony had only dug out my head and some of my chest. I closed my eyes and leaned my head back. Being buried alive was exhausting. And yeah, so was overreacting. I caught a little bit of a rest as Gonzalez and Chilled went back to digging, Max occasionally popping up to ask if I was okay. And, after what felt like an eternity, the two of them were hauling me out of the hole.

"I'm assuming we're not going hunting for more?" Max asked, giving a wry smile. He was looking around nervously, and for good reason. It was getting dark, and as the light faded so did the temperature. And being soaked from the waist down in poop soup didn't help matters either. The cold bit at my toes and numbed my feet. If we had to run from anything, it wasn't going to go well for me.

"No, I don't think we are." I stood up and made a futile attempt at squeezing some of the barf water out of my pants. "We need to go, though. I don't want to be eaten," I muttered as a cry rang out from down the street. Some zombies had most likely found a squirrel or something.

"Yeah, we do. Come on, Anthony. We're heading back home." Gonzalez waved Chilled over and we started in the opposite direction of the zombies. It was a longer route, but none of us really felt like fighting anything. So we trudged down a side street, my shoes and socks squashing and squelching with every step until finally they froze or all the water came out. Probably froze, since my pants got very, very crunchy. I'm sure that I reeked of whatever the hell I had fallen into, but I was too tired and hungry to care. I just wanted to curl up somewhere warm and die. Instead I was stuck walking down a deserted street with only three houses' worth of crap in my bag and dust coating literally everything I had. Eventually the suburbs became more urban and I could see home base looming a few blocks down. Home base being an apartment building we had commandeered.

I stumbled, the toe of my boot catching on a fallen lightpole. I hardly felt it. Now it wasn't Anthony that was the most zombie-like; it was me. I realized I was shambling along, just slapping my dead feet on the ground and forcing myself to keep going.

Max looked over at me, asking: "You good?"

I nodded tiredly and nearly tripped again. I stuffed my numb fingers into my pockets and drew my shoulders in. It was getting really, really cold, but Chilled and Gonzalez hardly seemed bothered by it.

He frowned, his full lips pouting. "You're not. Your lips are blue," he looked me over. "You're literally frozen, Adam! Why didn't you say anything?"

"We're almost there," I retorted, "Don't worry about it. I'll warm up when we get there."

"That's still two and a half blocks away. Come here." Max grabbed my backpack and started to pull it off. I tried to hold it on, clenching my arms at my sides, but he just pulled them away and took the bag and tugged the zipper open. "God, you smell like actual garbage. You're cleaning up when we get back, no questions asked." He dug out my gloves and handed them to me, then worked my blanket out of the bottom, ignoring the toiletries and other small things that fell out with it.

"Wait, we need that stuff," I started to bend to pick it up, but he forced me upright and wrapped the blanket around my shoulders.

"You work on warming up," he ordered as he knelt and started tossing things back into the bag. Shampoo, soap, deodorant, a Rubiks Cube, a pair of socks, a shoe insert, some sunglasses, and a packet of pens all found their way back into my backpack. Today's haul really hadn't been much, and I felt my stomach sink. We had been hoping for, even needing a lot more. My face must have shown it, because Max gave me a long look after he finally zipped up the bag and slung it over his own shoulder.

"You know there's always tomorrow. We'll just grab extra houses," he murmured.

"Yeah," I mumbled, "Yeah." We started to walk again, now trailing behind Anthony, who was nearly a block ahead of us. He actually knew his way around better than a lot of us did, but he didn't show it. He didn't show much of anything any more.

"He honestly scared me a little when we was screaming earlier," Max grinned, "It's been so long since he's spoken up that it was a shocker to hear him raising his voice." I played with the hem of my blanket, happy to be the one listening for once. "He really wasn't very stuck. I think you jumping at him kind of forced something in his brain to work, so he got out of it."

"Yeah, and he didn't end up in the poop soup," I grumbled.

"Poop soup," Max repeated, "I like it."

"You like it when you're not the one soaked in it," I shot back. He just shrugged and looked down the street, starting to whistle like he had earlier. It was almost completely dark at this point. I have to admit, though, I was feeling a little bit warmer. We walked the rest of the way back with only his whistling and my constantly crunching pants to accompany us. It was a good kind of companionship, just walking together. We finally reached the stairs a couple of minutes later.

"You good to get up there?" Gonzalez stopped and leaned against the railing. We had to climb eight flights of stairs to get to the floor that our group had claimed. He looked at me, his eyes glittering from the shadow of his brow. Light drifted down from above, casting an orange rectangle onto the ground around us.

I looked up and could see Chilled's shadow nearly to the top of the stairs. "I don't have a choice, do I?" I started up the steps, already hating the climb. This was going to suck some serious ass. As if my day hadn't sucked enough already.

"Not really," he followed my gaze up, his face illuminated by the yellow light for a moment. The dark circles under his eyes disappeared and it was difficult to see the smudges of dirt and grime across his face. He looked almost like he had before the Fall; young and alive. And then he looked back at me and the illusion was gone. He looked just like I did: tired, hungry, and eons older than before the Fall. But his eyes were still the same. Bright, alert, and warm. He paused and then quickly looked away. "I'm glad you're alive," he murmured, looking at me again.

"I know," my voice came out a lot quieter than I had intended it to. He nodded, chewing his lip. And then, as if on a little burst of courage, he stepped forward and hugged me. Quick, my chin bumping his collarbone and his arms wrapping around my shoulders, his cheek against my hair and my hands wriggled under his two bags. And then we were apart again, both a little bit more red in the cheeks.

I blinked and took another step up. "We gotta go, because Chilled may not tell them that we're down here." I blurted. Max nodded, taking the excuse eagerly. We both forced ourselves to take each step, finally getting to the eighth floor and shuffling into the main apartment. "Main apartment" being the place where we met, ate, and stored basically everything.

Eight faces stared at us when we walked in. Nogla and Sark were in the kitchen, Tyler was sitting at the dining room table, Chilled was leaning against the wall next to the door, Marcel and Craig were sitting on the floor holding sheets of music and Nogla's guitar, and Evan was sitting on the couch with his arm around Jonathan's waist. My stomach let out a loud growl when I smelled whatever it was that Nogla and Sark were making.

"Christ, what is that smell?" Delirious exclaimed. He sniffed a couple of times and his eyes zeroed in on me. "The fuck did you fall into? A goddamn toilet?"

Max took a breath to speak, but I beat him to it. "Yeah, actually, I did fall into a toilet. Took a nice swim because I felt like it, and then decided to keep all the same clothes on so that you guys could enjoy the perfume," I retorted, "I think I'm going to call this scent the 'Poop Soup No. 4,' but I'm not sure about the number, because this is only the first time I've fallen into a toilet. I'm surprised I didn't see you there, since you're such a piece of shit."

The shock in the room was almost palpable. Delirious looked ready to kill, his blue eyes shining and his dark lips pressed into a narrow line. Max moved a hand to rest in the middle of my back as Sark and Tyler exchanged a glance and burst into laughter.

"That is the best thing I've heard in a long time!" Tyler wheezed, "Way to go, Nanners!" The rest of the room broke into nervous laughter. I watched Nogla snap his mouth shut from its previously gaping position, then Marcel and Craig packed up Nogla's guitar and music and quietly stood up to leave. Evan was studying his nails intently to hide the smile threatening the corners of his mouth and Jonathan was still staring daggers at me.

"Sorry, it's been a bad day. Chilled can tell you what happened, if he hasn't already." Max spoke, ignoring the look that Anthony shot him, "We're going to go ahead and go now that you know we're alive," he guided me out the door and down the hall. The last thing I saw was a set of blue eyes digging into mine.

I must have fallen asleep on my feet because the next thing I knew I was opening my eyes to sunlight streaming onto my face. But what had woken me up was definitely not the sun on my face. Someone was banging on the front door to the apartment. I swung my legs out of bed and pulled one of the blankets off of the bed, wrapping it around my shoulders while I made my way to the living room. There was a lot of junk on my floor that normally wasn't there, I noticed. I opened the front door to Sark nervously shifting his weight from foot to foot.

"Hi, Adam, sorry, sorry, sorry for waking you up, but it's kind of an emergency. Nogla's super sick. Like, maybe dying sick. So, uh, could I ask you to go look for medicine today? I know you're really sore and tired and you look like it but this is really urgent. You dig?" He rushed through the words, stumbling and stuttering and just trying to get it out.

"Yeah, yeah, it's good. I was going to go scavenging today anyways," I leaned against the doorframe and yawned. "What kind of sick?"

"He can't keep anything down. Not even water," Sark scratched the back of his neck. "It's like what Hutch had," he mumbled. _And the rest of Sark's family_ , was what he left out. His wife and poor Atlas were both lying in shallow graves.

I changed the subject. "Have you searched everything we have?" I waved him inside and started to look for my backpack. "We may have picked something up yesterday," I paused when I saw that my bed was still made from the day before.

"Yeah," Sark agreed. I turned to see a shit-eating grin on his face. He motioned at me, saying: "Any reason why you're in Gassy's blanket? Is there something going on that I need to know about?"

"Uh, I actually don't know," I glanced down and the blanket actually was Max's Mexican flag blanket. Red and green covered my shoulders. "I'm pretty sure I passed out last night, so... Yeah," I shrugged. "Anyways, medicine." I stuck my head into Max's room and saw my backpack on the floor next to his bed. I snagged it and hurried back to Sark. All the items from the night before clattered onto the table. A bottle of Ibuprofen rattled out and rolled towards the edge. Sark snatched it up and stuffed it into his pocket. Nothing else was worth anything to Nogla.

"Thanks, man." Sark started for the door. I hurried after him, pausing to shove my feet into a pair of Reeboks next to the threshold.

"I'm coming with you," I quietly shut the door behind us and followed him down the hallway. Wind whipped past us, pressing Max's blanket to the backs of my legs and nearly stealing my breath.

I should _probably_ explain our living situation. Pretty soon after the Fall we claimed a couple of floors of this apartment building. Back then we had so many more survivors and needed more than one six-apartment floor. But, now that people have died and/or left us, we only need this one floor. And, for a bunch of dudes stuck in the zombie apocalypse, we're actually living pretty well. Anyways, we have one apartment for storage and meetings. It's the first apartment by the stairs. Next door, in apartment 802, are Sark, Nogla, and Marcel. These are pretty nice apartments, so almost everyone gets his own room. They're closest to the storage because they do most of the food prep and organization for us, mainly because Marcel has asthma, Nogla trashed his ankle and can't get around well, and Sark is just old. (Sorry, Sark.) So they stay close and handle the "housework." Across the hall is 803. Evan and Delirious stay there. They claim to "renovate" a lot, which is their explanation for the headboard hitting the wall. _Oops, did I say that out loud?_ Those two are the nastiest couple you'll ever come across. And, sadly, 804 is la casa de Nanners. My bedroom shares a wall with Evan's, making for some wonderful blackmail material. When I want blackmail. The rest of the time it's just gross listening to what goes on. And the other two bedrooms in mi casa belong to Anthony and Max, though basically the only time we spend in our place is sleeping time. We're out scavenging most days. And finally, all the way at the other end of the hall (two doors down), is 806. Craig and Tyler share that apartment mainly because Evan knows that Tyler's a threat to his leadership and wants him as far away as possible. Craig stays with Tyler because the two are, like, bromance supreme. Maybe a little more than bros, but nothing has been confirmed yet.

Thankfully the gangs that took over NYC were smart and didn't trash everything, so we still have running water and electricity. (Why are we, a bunch of Californians, in NYC? Simple: a gaming conference.) New York's power grid can actually take care of itself! (Until something breaks.) So we sometimes have access to the luxuries that we had before the Fall. "Sometimes" being when Evan is in a good mood/not around/busy with Jonathan. Evan thinks it's smart to keep us from those things because "We'll become too dependent" or "It'll attract attention." So we act like children and use those luxuries whenever the teacher isn't paying attention. If we have it, why not use it? Using the heat is so much better than sitting inside freezing. Besides, the dead of winter in New York isn't fun. One of us is probably going to die at some point.

"Can you go check the storage for more medicine? Ibuprofen will help, but we need more." Sark pointed down the hall. I nodded and jogged the rest of the way, my Reeboks squeaking and my joints creaking. (I'm no poet, but that was good. I'm really sore.) A burst of warmth met my face as I opened the door to 801. Evan, in all of his wise leadership, kept the heat on in 801 at all times. I breezed through the living room, ignoring Jonathan's glare and Craig's snicker.

I started in the bathroom, digging through the medicine cabinet and under the sink. Nothing. The first bedroom was used for clothing, which I dug through; emptying pockets and shaking out jackets and checking empty backpacks. Nothing. Second bedroom: canned goods. I opened boxes and shook empty tins and searched the dresser drawers. Nothing. The third bedroom was just junk we had found and wanted to keep. A few picture frames clattered to the floor, Nogla's guitar stuff gave a promising rattle that was only picks, and nothing else was worth searching. Nothing. The master bathroom had a first aid kit hidden under the sink. Bandages, gauze, tape, ace wraps, ice packs, a heating pad, Neosporin, a candy bar (it's mine now), and a bunch of other junk. But no dice.

I shut the box and shoved it back under the sink, then pulled Max's blanket tighter around my shoulders. We didn't have anywhere else that the medicine could be. I quietly left the room and, when I walked back into the living room, had an idea. Or, I guess, a suspicion. I hurried out the door and straight into someone's chest. Well, that someone was one of two people, and one of them was currently dying.

"Why are you in such a hurry?" Max looked me over and picked at the hem of his blanket. "So that's where this thing went," he gave me a look that I couldn't decipher.

"I'm checking on a whim," I tried to brush past him but he grabbed both of my shoulders and held me there.

"A whim?" He frowned. "What kind of a whim?"

"A dangerous one," I reached up and moved his fingers from where they were pressing on a bruise. He pulled me closer as a gust of wind whipped around us.

God, the sexual tension had to be high enough that everyone else could feel it too. Problem is, this homedog don't roll like that. He don't roll at all. I've never really felt sexual attraction to a person (probably why I'm so oblivious to, like, nothing), but I still feel romantic attraction. I'm literally a hopeless romantic because there ain't no sex to be had here. Sorry, TMI, anyways, Max pulled me practically into his chest because he feels for me but I don't feel the same and we both know that he knows I don't feel that but he still feels it because he's Max and Max doesn't take care of himself or his feelings when I'm around.

"Dangerous how?" He lowered his voice.

"Uh, if I told you then you'd know what I'm doing before I even do," I stepped away from him. "Because I just have a little idea, that's all."

"Then I'll come with you," he murmured. His tone didn't leave any room for argument.

"Okay, but we have to be quick. If this turns out to be worthless, then we have to get out and scavenge as soon as possible," I started towards 803.

"Is this about Nogla?" Max hissed. I shrugged and cracked the door open. The first thing I noticed was the heat that streamed out. The second thing was the sound of running water. The third thing was the scent of cigarettes. I hurried through the door, Max on my heels. I looked around the apartment while he shut the door.

Despite his type-A personality, Evan was obviously not a clean person. Or maybe it was entirely Delirious. Either way, the apartment was a dump. Cigarette butts and ash covered one of the end tables and the floor around it, the couch had various stains that I'm not going to identify, beer bottles littered the room, and more than one empty pill bottle was lying around. Filthy plates and other dishes were all around the kitchen, along with several piles of broken ceramic. To top it all off, Evan was loudly singing along with the music he had playing.

We both just stood there.

"So," I finally spoke up, "You want to tell me why I was in your bed?" I started to pick my way over to the kitchen.

"Uh," Gonzalez followed me.

"Uh? Are we Neanderthals again? What does 'uh' mean?" I glanced back at him. Despite his darker skin tone, he was bright red. Colorado would be the Spanish term. (I think) ((Sorry, I have to throw in some good old Español. This is the Gassy Mexican I'm talking about. Even though he's from Chicago.))

"Your room is particularly drafty," he mumbled, "and you were particularly cold," he scratched the back of his neck. "And my room is the quietest and farthest, so I had the heater on. And it's the master, so I had a lot less time spent moving you places."

I nodded, turning again to look at him. "Thanks," I fished the candy bar out of my pocket because I'm stupid and don't know how to properly thank someone. This was middle school all over again.

He took the candy and I quickly turned to start digging through cabinets. I found: junk, moldy food, stashed gold (literally), more junk, rat crap, at least seven condoms just lying around, an entire cabinet (not just a shelf; a cabinet) devoted to cigarettes, tons of random antidepressants, an economy sized bottle of Tums, even more junk, trash wrappers, a box of Twix bars, more pill bottles, and last but not least, a gigantic bag of weed. I grabbed the Tums and tried not to rattle them around as I started for the bathroom that wasn't currently in use.

My Reeboks immediately crunched as I stepped into the dark bathroom. I froze. The lights (these bums had, like, every light but this one on) revealed that the mirror was shattered all over the floor. I took one more noisy step and then opened the medicine cabinet. Several bottles of antibiotics and other various prescription drugs stared me in the face. I took all of them, handing a few to Max. Then I gingerly stepped out of the bathroom, only to freeze again when the shower shut off. We both rushed to the farthest unused bedroom and squeezed into the closet. Evan turned his music off as we jostled for room.

"Move your fat ass," I hissed, pushing Max away. He grunted and shoved me against the wall. We both winced as some of the pill bottles we were carrying rattled around.

"There isn't enough room, asshole," he shot back. I kicked his shin but didn't say anything else. We fell silent and listened. Evan was still singing and still in the master bedroom. We waited like that, tense and quiet and still. It seemed like hours passed until finally finally finally Evan left, slamming the front door behind him. We tumbled out of the closet and hurried for the door, listening for another slam down the hall before we rushed out of the apartment and straight for 802.

"Hi," I gasped as we burst into 802. Marcel stared at us, both carrying various different drugs that had hopefully some kind of usefulness. "We come bearing gifts," I dropped all of my stuff on the table and Marcel immediately came over to start taking inventory.

"Where did you two find this?" He asked as he turned a bottle of Zoloft over in his hand to find the label.

"We searched the supply rooms," I blurted before Max could speak. He scowled at me but didn't say anything.

"Strange," Marcel started organizing the bottles. We watched eagerly. He eventually sorted them all and shook his head. "Some of this will help symptoms, but he needs specific antibiotics. You found some, but they're not the right kind. We're afraid he has cholera, so you need to search drugstores and pharmacies." He pulled out a pen and pulled a napkin from the counter. He wrote three medicine names that I'm not going to repeat because I have no idea what any of them do or how to pronounce them. "Any of these three will work," he pressed the napkin into my hand. "We need these or Nogla might not make it."

"Okay, yeah, got it. We'll be back by sundown." I quickly turned and rushed to my apartment. I was changing (of course) when Max appeared in the doorway.

"No houses today?" He gave me a funny look while I wriggled into a pair of sports leggings and then layered two pairs of sweats on over them. He was already dressed and ready to go. I stuffed my triple-socked feet into a pair of boots and then tugged my coat on.

"Just pharmacies and maybe the hospital if we make it that far."

"We're not going near the hospital. You know how infested it is there."

"We'll be fine," I muttered as I dug into the bottom of my drawer. My fingers closed around cold metal. I pulled a Glock out of the drawer and then fished out two extra clips for it. "We can handle at least," I counted the clips, "a hundred," I pocketed the clips and tucked the pistol into my waistband. Max just shook his head.

"Why didn't you have this out before?" He asked as we left the apartment and started for the stairs.

"Didn't need it and didn't want Jonathan to know about it." We hurried down the stairs and broke into a jog down the street. "Besides, if this is cholera, the hospital is probably the only place that has these drugs."

Gonzalez sighed and rolled his eyes. "Fine. We'll go to the damn hospital."

It took us an hour to get there. We quietly made our way inside, bat and crowbar ready. The Glock was burning against my skin, begging to be used. But it was for emergencies only. The gunshots would attract not only zombies but also gangs.

"Where would they keep important drugs in a hospital?" I mumbled. Max shrugged. So we started checking nurse's stations. We climbed stairs and stared into empty elevator shafts. We opened drawers and shut refridgerators. We bashed the occasional zombie and avoided corpses in the halls.

And, finally, we hit the jackpot. A lab held cabinets of antibiotics and, after a good bit of searching, we found it. Cipro and Vibramycin and Zithromax. I grabbed all the bottles they had and slipped them into my backpack while Max kept watch. What he couldn't watch for was the cracked closet door behind him. And I couldn't either. A lab coat shambled out and screeched when he laid eyes on us. Max whipped around and jumped back over a counter. The zombie snapped at him and lunged, its broken fingers narrowly missing Max's face. I could see bone sticking out where fingertips had been, sharp and ready to tear into flesh. My flesh. (I am quite delicious, but I'm not for zombies to eat.) I tried to scramble back, but my feet got tangled in my backpack straps. A rolling tray spun away from me and clattered to the floor when I tried to pull myself up by it. Several cries sounded out down the halls.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," I hit the zombie away from me with my crowbar and tried again to stand. My feet were still tangled. The Z jumped on top of me, its rotten breath filling my face. I desperately struggled against it, using the crowbar to keep its snapping teeth just inches from my face. Its claws dug into the back of my neck while it tried to bring my head closer. This thing was legitimately going to try to eat my brains. I could hear Max fighting a few feet away, knocking things to the floor and grunting as he shoved the zombies back.

Claws slipped and raked lines down my neck and across my chest as the stupid thing lost its balance and simply clawed at whatever it could. I was holding the full, furious weight of the zombie by the crowbar. The gashes burned like fire. Something else hit the zombie, throwing it to the side. I kicked free of the backpack and swung, digging the end of the crowbar into the undead's skull. I twisted and it sputtered once, then went still. Another dead zombie was nearby, its head dented in by Max's bat.

"Oh, shit, Adam," Max was staring at my shredded coat.

We didn't have time to stop and play doctor. I hauled my bag out from under one of the corpses and we started for the stairs. Shrieks rang out all over the building now, echoing down the elevator shaft and tricking our ears as we ran past. I paused to see three shapes plummet down to the bottom.

"Smart," I muttered.

"I told you this was a bad idea," Gonzalez grabbed my arm and shoved me into the stairwell. Clumsy footsteps thundered above us. "I told you!" He shouted. We scrambled down the stairs and stumbled out of an emergency exit. Long-silent alarms started to ring again when the door was forced open. We raced down the block and into a neighborhood. It was the exact wrong direction, but we simply needed to get away. We ran until we couldn't anymore, taking wrong turns and becoming way, way too lost. Finally we stopped and made our way into an empty house. Well, not exactly empty. It wasn't empty at all. Eight heads snapped up to look at us. And so did eight weapons.

"Uh, hi," I dropped my crowbar and put my blood-sticky hands up. Max followed suit. "Just stopping in, if it's cool with you, and if it's also cool, we'll be leaving."

"You get bit?" One of the guys motioned at my chest with a pistol.

"No, I didn't. Broken off fingers," I gulped. Even though I wasn't bitten, I was probably still going to be very, very sick. "We're just a couple of lost dudes trying to get home because one of our friends is dying." I felt like I was trying to talk a seeker out of tagging me in hide and seek.

"Come from the hospital?" Pistol stood up and walked over. I slung my backpack to the floor and kicked it towards him. I ignored the blood dripping from my fingertips and focused on what he was doing. He opened it and dug through its contents. "Cipro? Your friend got Cholera?" Pistol held up one of the prescription bottles. "Then go," he zipped up the bag and shoved it back towards me. "Get him sodium and electrolytes, and clean out those gashes."

"Thank you," I breathed, "We owe you." I scooped up all my stuff and backed out the door. Gonzalez quietly shut the door and we both rushed away from the house. I realized that something I had eaten wasn't sitting right.

"We need to get home," Max checked his watch. "We've got two hours before we said we'd be back."

"Yeah," I wiped my crowbar off in some dead grass. "I wish we had Anthony,"

"He would have blown up in there. We'd be dead if he was with us."

"We're lost and almost dead anyways," I glanced down at my shredded clothes.

Gonzalez shook his head. "We can get back. Just follow the skyscrapers." He pointed at the skyline. Our building wasn't a skyscraper, but it was in the foothills to the mountains. (Super deep comparison, I know.) My stomach rumbled, but I don't think I was hungry.

And, sure enough, the mountains showed us where the foothills were. I don't remember much of the walk, but we finally trudged up to 802 about half an hour before sundown. I was actually feeling pretty crappy by then. Two bad nights in a row.

"You go get food and sit down," Max pointed at 801, "I'll take the medicine." He took my backpack when I handed it to him.

I went into 801, which was deserted, and had myself a meal of canned fruit and a protein bar that tasted like legitimate crap. I had to unstick my coat from my arms when I pulled it off. Max eventually came in, grabbed his own dinner, and sat down across from me at the table. We ate in silence, him wolfing down what he had and me picking at my fruit. My stomach was roiling.

Gonzalez took a deep breath and looked at me. "Nogla died about an hour ago," he told me.

I had almost expected it to be so. I nodded. And I ate the rest of my fruit. Our ten had become nine. It was only a matter of time until someone blew up and our nine would become eight. You know, we never did hit up those extra houses Max mentioned.

I threw up my dinner a couple of hours later.


	2. Chapter 2

Great, right? I throw up my dinner just like Nogla probably did. I tried to be quiet about it, but a) I cannot throw up quietly and b) Max has bat ears. He was kneeling next to me as soon as he heard me retching in the bathroom. Good stuff. Anthony must have heard too because, surprise surprise, Marcel came bustling in with the exact same drugs that we found the day before. Or was it just earlier in the same day? Who knows. I kind of didn't care about anything other than the fact that I was dying.

"What happened?" Marcel asked. What did happen?

I painfully heaved up nothing while Max explained, "A close call with a zombie." Oh yeah, those gashes all over my neck and chest.

"Adam, I need you to sit up for a moment." Marcel was trying to be soothing. I forced myself upright with shaky arms while he pulled my shirt off. So not only was I being embarrassing and throwing up everywhere, I was now shirtless and bandages and skinny, protruding bones and ugly, red hot skin. Wait, isn't that a sign of infection?

"This is infected." Marcel started to unwrap the tape Max had wound around me.

"I cleaned them out as best I could," Gonzalez replied. I finally regained control of my stomach and sat there, shuddering, while Max flushed the toilet and Marcel finished removing my bandages. It hurt in the little kid kind of way when you exposed a new cut to water. But there wasn't any water around.

"Okay," Marcel pressed a couple of capsules to my lips. I swallowed them dry—my mouth was so, so dry—and watched Max's hands shake. "I'm not sure if this is Cholera or the infection. I guess we'll find out if those antibiotics work or not," Marcel finally finished, "Get him to bed and make sure he stays hydrated." He pushed himself up, knees popping. "If he gets worse come tell me." He breezed out of the bathroom, leaving us a bottle of pills.

"Yeah, I will." Gonzalez nodded and pulled me up to sit on the now closed toilet seat. "Can you walk?" He frowned. "I guess Marcel wants to leave your chest uncovered."

"Yeah, I can walk."

Max ended up carrying me to his room. He made sure that I was comfortably wrapped in about eight blankets and then pulled me close to him. Did I mention I was running a massive fever? Everything was so dry. I was the human equivalent to a desert.

"I'm fine," I protested. I wasn't really fine. My dinner was down the toilet, I was burning hot, and everything was dry dry dry.

"You need this fever to break."

"The blankets can take care of that."

"Yeah, they can," Max knew what he was doing. I didn't really mind. "Just—please don't die," he whispered.

My fever never really did break. I can remember little snippets of Max gently shaking me, of Max himself gently shaking, Marcel and Sark huddled over me, Evan somewhere in there, Tyler screaming at Evan, a strange silence for a time, and then not much of anything. I was swimming in tar, burning hot and consuming me even though I was nothing more than a dried out husk. I was always running the same fever, blankets or no blankets. Maybe Evan and Tyler had a fistfight, now that I think of it. And I think Anthony just straight up disappeared. Either way, I was out. For days, maybe.

Now, before I magically wake up, I have to tell you what actually went on. Because I'm the one writing this and I can do what I want with my autobiography. Or journal. Or whatever this is.

Anyways, while I was comatose and practically (un)dead for three days or so, a lot happened. None of it good.

Max woke up in the morning to me completely still and barely breathing, so he did the typical Max thing and tried to fix it himself before he asked for help. That was what I remembered of him shaking me. I kind of blinked and looked at him like, yo, I'm alive, let me be, then went back into my coma. He asked me to please wake up, please say something, and then Anthony came in. Chilled did his Chilled thing and went and got Marcel while Max forced me to drink some water. Sark showed up too. So Marcel and Sark did their thing while Max wandered the apartment complex with nothing better to do. My two medics decided there was nothing they could do, so they went to 801 and announced the bad news.  
Things kind of went to shit from there. Geez, my storytelling is crap.

"Adam is dying," Marcel just flat out said it. Delirious probably fist-pumped. Craig probably had a heart attack.

Evan, always the opportunist, said: "Then we need to leave. It's obvious Nogla's disease has spread and we can't stay here. We'll all die." I guess everyone kind of agreed with him on the disease part.

"But we can't just leave Adam here," Tyler retorted, "he's one of us. What if he wakes up or whatever and we've deserted him?"

"And what if he wakes up and we're all dead?" Fong shot back.

"I vote we give him some time," Sark stepped in. "Two days."

"Two days for all of us to get infected. I'm leaving, with or without you people." Evan muttered. Jonathan nodded his assent.

"We can't do that!" Craig exclaimed, "There's a chance that Adam just ate the same bad stuff that Nogla did. Not all of us are going to get sick! Max and Anthony would be sick by now if it was contagious. So would Sark and Marcel."

Speaking of Anthony, it was sometime during this conversation that he packed his bags and skipped town. Max never saw him hurry down the stairs and hook a right once he reached the street. Max never saw or heard any of this until he came back upstairs from wherever he had been.

So things, obviously, became heated. They always do when you put Evan and Tyler in the same room. A discussion became a shouting match, which is what I remember hearing. And then a shouting match became a fistfight. Evan tackled Tyler and Sark started yelling at them to stop and Jonathan drew a knife and Craig tried to grab him and Marcel started for the door. And somewhere in there, Delirious lost it. He stabbed Marcel. And then silence fell as everyone watched Marcel crumple to the ground, blood spilling from his chest. Jonathan's aim was too good. Jonathan booked it out of there, and so did Evan. Max came back upstairs to find that our nine had quite suddenly become a total of five. Delirious and Vanoss also skipped town, but never saw Anthony.

None of them noticed his absence until that night when Marcel's body was burning on the pyre we had set up in the alley behind our complex. Max wasn't present for the fire, either. He was curled up with my feverish body.

Give me a minute, now after everything is shit, to explain our group dynamic. Evan is our fearful leader who refuses to run out of water (?), electricity (?), and food (!). Delirious is his boyfriend who dotes on his every word and wrong decision and kind of causes lots of trouble. These two get along with no one. Not even Anthony. Chilled is our kind of tag-along. He hates being with us, but he has no other options (obviously he does because he left us. liar.). Nogla and Marcel were kind of our peacekeepers. They played pretty neutral and always came up with our compromises and kept fights from breaking out until Nogla died of Cholera and Marcel was murdered (wowie). Of course, then it didn't matter because everyone left anyways. Sark is our mother. He always made sure everyone was fed and happy, even when Evan was cracking down on us. And Sark was always the one to sacrifice. He's the most selfless person I know, without a doubt. Max is second, but he's mostly selfless to me. To the rest of the group he's pretty quiet but also defensive. Kind of like a cactus. Very nice to the owls who make their home inside his chest, but very not nice to the cats who want to eat his owls. I think. I'm kind of the owl, but no one wants to eat me. Instead they want me to feed them. Max and I are often not around to observe the fights and the peacemaking. Craig tries to be nice and neutral, but he's obviously with Tyler (when I went through their apartment, only one bed had been slept in. mmhmmm.). And Tyler himself is like our renegade leader who actually knows what he's doing. He and Evan do not ever get along. There are two sides to our group and a full spectrum of involvement, as you can see.

"Wait, did Anthony leave with Evan?" Craig spoke up.

"Is he not here?" Tyler glanced around the fire. "It's so easy to miss him half the time," he muttered.

"I haven't seen him since we checked on Adam this morning," Sark frowned.

"He must have left with Evan, then," Craig sighed, his breath blowing a cloud.

"Is it a good idea to stay?" Tyler asked his party of two. Sark shrugged and Mini was silent.

"I don't trust Evan or Jonathan. They'll come back for supplies and for blood." Craig finally replied. "Adam hasn't changed a bit all day. He's stuck in that coma, and he probably won't wake up."

"What about Max?" Sark looked up from the fire.

"He can come or he can stay. Max can fend for himself and we can leave him supplies. Jonathan and Evan aren't out for him," Tyler murmured. Always thinking ahead, that's Tyler. He's crazy smart when he wants to be.

"So we just give up on Adam like that?" Sark crossed his arms.

"Nothing else we can do for him," Wildcat sighed, "if you're coming, we'll leave tomorrow morning."

Sark shifted uncomfortably while the others stared into the fire. That fire had consumed two bodies in the past two days, and quite possibly a third one soon to come. "If he isn't any better, then I'll go," he finally replied. Tyler nodded and Craig patted him on the back.

"I know this is tough for you," Wildcat said, "but this is survival."

"Yeah, I know," the shorter man took a long breath. "I don't have anyone left besides him, you know? Hutch is gone, my family is gone, everyone. If he dies then I have no strings." I miss Sark.

"And if he doesn't, I'm sure that Max will take care of him." Tyler pressed his lips together. "That's enough sappy shit," he said as screams rang out in the distance, "we need to get back inside."

And you, my brilliant reader, can guess what happened. I didn't improve! So cinco became dos, and only uno of us could function. The sending-off went something like this:

"We'll see you around, huh?" Tyler stopped at the top of the stairwell.

"Yeah, we'll meet again," Max nodded, "if Adam makes it or not."

"Hopefully the first option," Tyler replied. "Stay safe," he whispered, "and hide what you can. Evan and Jonathan will probably be back."

"Thanks," Gonzalez watched his friend turn and hurry down the stairs. He relaxed once the three figures disappeared at the end of the street.

And then my Max did the Max thing and made a feast (my Max? I'm getting way too possessive.). Tyler's group had taken their share and Evan had taken nothing, so we had a metric butt-ton of food. Sadly, it helped that we had lost so many mouths to feed. It's much easier to take care of two people than eight. But numbers are helpful, so it's a give-take kind of thing.

So Max ate and filled up on all the calories he had been deprived of by Evan's strict rationing. Maybe it could have been counted on a binge, but there's no such thing as too much food in the zombie apocalypse. And then he hid all the rest of the food in our apartment. Because he's a hoarder. And finally, he turned the heat on full blast and took a hot shower and washed as much clothing as he wanted to. We were going to live the life of luxury. Luxury being: a normal life before the Fall.

And once he was happy and warm he went the extra mile and wrapped me up in freshly cleaned and dried blankets. Because Max is secretly a mother. And I stayed in my coma for another four days. And he watched me and cared for me with very little else to do. Because he's Max. And Max loves me.

I woke up feeling much less hot and a tiny bit less dry. But also a lot warmer. But with a lot fewer blankets. Mainly because Max was curled up around me. It was pitch black but I could see white outside of the window.

"Is it snowing?" I asked.

Gonzales jerked upright and looked at me. "You're awake," he breathed. I ignored him and walked over to the window. Frigid air was leaking through, eating into me and working away at the heat Max had given me. What was practically a blizzard was coming down. I guess. I'm not used to snow, so it was probably just flurries. I turned away from the window.

"Adam?"

"You're glowing," I replied. A glow like sparks was coming from his chest. His heartbeat, I realized. I walked back to the bed and worked my way back under the covers.

"Adam, you're awake. You've been in a coma for, like, a week. What are you talking about?" He checked my temperature. "Your fever broke, too."

"Your heartbeat is glowing," I pressed my hand to his chest. He was the one that was burning up now. I wanted that light, somehow.

He glanced down and put his hand over mine. "You're not actually awake," his voice fell.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm awake. I'm aware. My fever is down and I'm not in a coma," I could see the glow even when I blinked, even through our hands.

"Are you hungry? Thirsty?" He clasped my wrist to check my pulse and frowned. "I'm not feeling anything," he felt my throat.

"No, I'm fine," my mouth was a comfortable kind of dry. All of me was, actually. I had no desire for food or water.

"Adam, I'm not feeling your pulse," Gonzalez checked the other side of my neck.

"You're not?" I reached up to feel. Two dudes just holding a neck. Nothing weird here!

"Wait, it's there," Max paused, "it's just as slow as it was when you were out, though." His fingers, warm and gentle, found the claw marks on the back of my neck. I felt nothing out of the ordinary. "They're healed," he pushed the blankets down and exposed my bare chest. In the dim light I could see purple scars and a dull ember on my chest.

"Wow, they are," I looked up at him when his hand found my waist and stayed there. No signs of infection here and a ridiculously fast recovery. I'm the Wolverine, guys.

"You seem different," he murmured. Other than the entire where's my heartbeat thing? Yeah, maybe. "Your eyes," he reached across me to the nightstand and turned on the lamp. "Your eyes are darker here," his thumb ran under my eye. "And you're cooling off now that we're not—or, I'm not—uh," he stuttered. Despite how hot I felt, I wasn't all that warm.

"Now that you're not holding me," I finished for him.

"Yeah," he finally replied. "Yeah,"

"Could I be a zombie?" I finally asked. "I kind of look like one by what you're saying."

He blinked at me. "Of course not, I'd be zombie food if you were infected."

"Yeah, but like, half zombie. Because of your heartbeat and my heartbeat and my eyes and I'm just different now. So, like, Danny Phantom. A ghost or something in a body but not quite connected?" I shrugged.

"Maybe," Max chewed his lip. "Since that zombie never actually bit you but I'm sure you got some form of the virus, so maybe," he paused, "it doesn't matter right now."

"No, not really," I mumbled. Gonzalez nodded, his gaze lingering on my lips. He quietly lay back down and looked at the window instead. "Yeah, it is snowing. I hope that the others are alright," he yawned.

Spoiler alert: the others were not alright. But I'll get to that.

Max eventually closed his eyes and went back to sleep. But I couldn't sleep for the life of me. Nothing in me was tired, nothing was in want. I swung my legs out of bed and left the bedroom. I felt stronger than I had in months. I paused outside of Chilled's doorway. The door was wide open, his drawers open and empty.

"Anthony?" I whispered, gently knocking on the doorframe. Silence. "Chilled, you here?" I picked my way into his room and saw that he had taken all of his things. Max was sound asleep in the other room; I couldn't wake him up to ask about where Chilled was. Sark or Marcel might know if they were awake. I quietly dressed myself and then left the apartment. The cold immediately hit me, but I wasn't cold. Well, actually, I was. I could feel my fingers like ice. But I didn't feel cold.

What immediately threw me off was the lack of noise. Even with our small group, there was always some kind of chatter or clatter. Even in the dead of night. And 801 was completely dark. Evan literally never turned the lights off. But the lights were out and the heat was off and all the food was gone. Snow drifted in through a newly shattered window. Dried blood covered part of the floor and led in a streak out to the hallway. I backed out of the apartment and hurried to 802. It was empty, but only Sark's things were gone.

I blinked when a spark appeared in the edge of my vision. Two sparks, actually. I grabbed a baseball bat that was sitting by the door and crept out into the hallway. The sparks were bright bright bright as they ran up the stairs.

I turned and raced for 804. The door slid shut behind me as they came to the top of the stairs. I froze. What the hell could I do with a baseball bat against two guys who were probably heavily armed and prepared for this? I locked the door as quietly as possible and set the bat down on the counter.

"There's nothing here!" I heard one of them shout. Delirious. "They cleaned it all out!" A bottle smashed out in the hallway. Beer, probably. Since Jonathan had kind of become a hardcore alcoholic after the Fall. His partner—Evan, I assumed—said something to him in a low voice that I couldn't quite hear.

"What the hell is going on?" I flinched when Max whispered in my ear, managing to hit my head on his chin.

"Don't do that!" I hissed, pushing him back, "Jonathan and Evan are here and I have no plan whatsoever." Two sparks moved from apartment to apartment, finally pausing outside of our door. I gave Max a panicked look and then went into full zombie mode.

Zombie mode not being eat-Max's-brains-out zombie, but howling and kind of throwing a shoulder into the door. Genius, right? What kind of scared me was how real my zombie screams sounded. Evan and Delirious both jumped back, their heartbeats flaring up.

"I knew Adam was infected," Evan muttered. I groaned again and slapped a hand on the door. "Max is probably dead too," he finished.

"Good riddance," Delirious grumbled, "who cares. We need their food."

"You really want to risk that?" Vanoss sounded doubtful. Max began to growl too, adding to Evan's doubt. "There's at least the two of them in there."

Both of them paused. I continued to make noise, searching for flesh to feast upon. Gonzalez shoved me against the door in his mad effort to reach the two outside, his body pressed against mine. Perv. Always had to get his share, even in a life threatening situation. Well, a half-dead-life threatening situation. For me.

"Come on," Evan finally said, "we can find other food." The two of them turned away and left. Just like that. Way too easy, if you ask me. They'd be back, but that didn't matter. Their sparks faded down the stairs and into the streets.

Max slumped against the wall and looked at me. "I'm going back to bed," he mumbled, glancing at his watch, "it's three-thirty. We can figure this shit out tomorrow, both your health and this Evan situation."

"Yeah, sounds good," I found myself craving more of Max's warmth instead of my icy skin. More of Max in general. How on earth did we get here? Two guys sleeping together (in the most innocent sense of the phrase) but still remaining "just friends." We were a mess. And yet, as I was having these thoughts, I followed him to his room and wriggled my way under the covers and closer to his heart. And I think he came just a bit closer to mine. You know, I might kind of like him in a more than friends kind of way. Don't tell anyone I said that.


	3. Chapter 3

Before I wake up and we discover the truth about what I am, I have to tell you what happened to everyone else. Because a lot happened in the span of seven days.

Anthony, sadly, is still MIA. (That's military lingo for "missing in apocalypse" or something like that.) No one ever saw him after he left, so the Story of Chilled Chaos has to end there. He packed his stuff while everyone threw down in 801 and disappeared into the night. Adios, Anthony. The end.

Next up is Tyler's squad. (That's teenager lingo for your only friends in the apocalypse.) He, Craig, and Sark made their way to a nearby suburb and quickly discovered that I had already looted everything. No food, no useful clothing, no blankets, no anything. Not even fun little knicknacks like a Rubiks cube. Oh, and the power was out.

"Damn it, Adam and his scavenging," Tyler hissed when he stepped into the master bedroom of yet another house. The bed was completely stripped and the linens closet was empty. "We only have the supplies to last for three weeks," he murmured.

"We'll find more food by then," Craig reassured him, "three weeks is a long time." Always the optimist. Wildcat pressed his lips together and nodded.

"We need to worry more about warmth," Sark spoke up. He was right, of course, since he's so old and wise. Frost covered the carpet and it felt even colder inside the houses than outside. "There's no power here, first of all, and Adam has already taken all of the blankets and clothes."

Tyler let out a long sigh, his breath steaming in front of him. He cast a look at Mini and then turned, ducking his head under the doorframe as he left.

"You think we'll make it?" Craig whispered.

"Yeah," Sark nodded, "we'll make it. Tyler knows what he's doing. If things get really bad, we'll just go back to the apartments."

Mini shook his head, "we can't go back there. Tyler says he'd like to forget the place. He doesn't really intend on ever seeing Evan again, and he doesn't want to stay in one place for very long."

"Yeah, but what if it's our only option?"

"I'm not Tyler, I don't know what he'd say," Craig finally replied, shutting down the conversation. He breezed out of the room, leaving Sark standing in the middle of a drafty, dead house. The older man shoved his hand into his pocket and felt his wallet there. Sure, his wallet was worthless just like the American dollar, but what it held was not.

He sat down on the bare mattress, ignoring the creaks as it moved for the first time in ages. Beaten leather was warm in his hands, smooth and comfortable. Yes, yes, his wallet itself was worthless. But the faces of his family and friends staring back were not. He felt heavy looking at so many deaths, including his wife and son and best friends. But it was a good kind of heavy. A heavy that settled in his bones and drove him to keep living.

Sark put the wallet away and followed his friends' footsteps.

The three of them forged on, walking farther and farther away from their starting point. They were quiet, thinking to themselves and trying to take in everything they saw. And, the more they walked, the more zombies they saw.

"We really were in the good part of town, you know?" Craig said as he clubbed a zombie into the ground. "Or maybe we made it the good part of town," his baseball bat thunked into the zombie's forehead.

"Yeah, probably the latter. Adam never came home without zombie crap all over him when he first started going out," Sark replied, "hey, maybe if we're finding zombies here, then he hasn't been here!"

"Maybe so," Tyler started for a house on their left, hopping the chain link fence in the yard. "I guess we'll find out," he finished.

Mini scrambled over the fence after him. Sark paused, looked at the house, looked at the fence, sighed, and opened the gate instead, muttering something about young hooligans. He really plays the old dad part well, doesn't he? I mean, he is 41, but he's not that old. Or maybe he is, and we just never really noticed.

"Careful, this house is probably full." Tyler whispered as he tried the doorknob. Locked. He took his crowbar and easily took the knob off. The door swung open, revealing a surprisingly not torn apart living room. The couches were without zombie tears and the TV remote still sat on one of the cushions.

If it had been me in that house, I would have turned around and left, shutting the door behind me. These houses were places that I count as almost sacred. But none of them knew that.

"Hello?" Craig raised his voice just enough to be heard. No one replied. The dining room was dusty and untouched. Four places were set at the table and a pitcher of frozen lemonade sat next to a vase of long-dead flowers.

"What the hell?" Tyler whispered. The cabinets were fully stocked and the fridge reeked of rotten food. He and Craig started stuffing their backpacks with supplies while Sark wandered the living area. Pictures lined the walls and sat on bookshelves. A family of four lived there at some point. Two kids, both teenagers, and parents with pride on their faces. The daughter, a soccer player. The son, a marching band member. The mother, a lawyer. The father, a gardener.

What happened?

Eventually the three moved further into the house. Still no sign of any life, undead or not. Until they stumbled upon something even worse. I won't go into too much detail, but the master bedroom was also a mausoleum. A pistol lay on the floor, tumbled from the father's hand. His family was lying next to him on the bed, holding each other to the last.

Sark turned and left.

Better to die together than to lose your family one by one, right?

Either way, Tyler and his two very quickly learned that locked, empty houses were places of a special kind of suffering. Sark took to painting a red line across the doors with a can of spraypaint that he found.

At night the three of them would crawl into an attic somewhere and eat their dinner of canned soup before curling up and shivering themselves to sleep. Don't get me wrong, they were bundled up to all hell. But the cold ate at them and dug into every crevice. Tyler and Craig would slowly gravitate together, waking up in the mornings curled around each other. (OTP confirmed!) Sark was given more blankets as a result.

It wasn't the best life to live, but it was a life. Six days passed, each one becoming more and more comfortable. They gradually lost the way back to the apartments and found that they were okay with that. No one bothered them and they bothered no one. It seemed as if they would make it just fine.

But this is the dead of winter in New York City. A full-fledged blizzard blasted through, and though they made it to shelter, it wasn't without a price. All three were covered in snow and frozen to the core. They struggled out of their frozen clothing and tried everything to leach warmth back into their skin. Tyler and Craig shared the little heat that they had while Sark drifted off into the comforting depths of sleep.

He never woke up.

Evan and Delirious never strayed far from the apartments. Honestly, I don't care much for their story. The two of them probably stayed in one of the lower floors and fucked the entire time. Nothing interesting there. (Okay, I admit that I'm kind of pissed at them. But I'm in charge of telling this story and if I deem there to be nothing interesting, then I won't tell it.) However, one thing did happen that kind of needs telling. The one thing that I know for sure is that Jonathan basically drank nonstop for a week. (I think they stayed close because he probably had a stash somewhere within easy access.) Evan, always the golden child, never drank anything. (He's surprisingly clean and drug/alcohol free.) And, as with many apocalyptic alcoholics, Delirious drank too much. It happened to be right after the two of them left our floor. He collapsed at some point and Evan couldn't do anything. Alcohol poisoning claimed him just like it had claimed Nick a while back. I won't go into what happened with Nick.

And that concludes my (inadequate) telling of what happened to everyone else! (I really just want to tell you what happened to me.)

I left off with a confession I won't repeat. But I guess I'll repeat that I was happily covered in blankets and nestled into Max's chest. His arms were wrapped around me and my feet were tangled up with his. It's good to be close. I'll also repeat I was in want of nothing; I didn't need to sleep, eat, or do anything. Okay, maybe I did want Max a teeny little bit. Maybe.

Instead of sleeping I let myself zone out. And, before I knew it, Max was pressing his lips to the top of my head.

"Did you sleep at all?" He asked. His voice was deliciously low and sleep-raspy. I mean-he sounded like he had just woken up.

"No, I didn't." I murmured. He scooted back enough to look at me.

"Are you hungry or anything?" Dark brown eyes flicked over me, pausing for just a moment on my lips before finding my eyes.

"Nope," I blinked.

He pursed his lips. "Your eyes are still dark," he eventually said, "but it's almost a good kind of dark. Not like you haven't slept but," his voice trailed off. He shook his head as if to clear his mind and sat up. "I don't know," he sighed as he pushed himself out of bed, "I don't know a lot of things." Max walked into the bathroom and began brushing his teeth. Enticing was the word he was looking for. I saw it in his eyes, in his face. He wanted, wanted, wanted. I needed out.

I slipped out of the apartment and into the cold. See, I'm kind of really bad at dealing with this entire "human emotion" thing. I was scared of what he was feeling, I was scared of what I was feeling, I was scared of us. Scared to get too attached, scared to screw up, scared to lose him like I inevitably would. I guess scared was the right word. Both of us could be explosive. But we could also work together well. The more I thought about it the more lost I felt. So I diverted my attention to the snow drifting down instead of how Max's heart had been pounding. I let the cold replace his warmth.

But there was nothing else to distract myself with. All I could see was white and gray. Gonzalez's heartbeat still shone bright, always at the edge of my vision. But no one else was nearby, save for a few dim, mean lights on the ground below. I peered over the edge of the railing and saw four zombies slipping on the ice.

"What the hell are you doing?" Max stepped out of 804. "It's snowing like this and you're out here?" This was Max being motherly, not Max looking as if he wanted to devour.

"I'm not cold," I continued watching the zombies below. He finally nodded and disappeared into the apartment. How could I have curled up and slept with him and found my feelings for him and now shut him out? What the hell was I doing?

I started for the stairs, snagging a baseball bat on my way. Slipping around or not, those zombies were going to be a problem. Or, you know, I was looking for a problem.

But, after nearly slipping and sliding my own way down the stairs, I found that the zombies weren't hungry, if that's possible. I crunched closer to them, batting stance at the ready. If one of them made a move, I was going to hit a home run. The snow was starting to stick to me instead of melt off, just like it did on the undead. I was within grabbing distance of one of the undead now. He still ignored me and kept his eyes turned upward. His teeth snapped idly, searching for something to tear into.

"Hey, ugly," I poked him in the ribs with my bat. He didn't respond in the least. His friends were the same way. These were some really, really unhungry zombies. I took a step forward and my foot flew out from under me. I was skidding around and grabbing for something, anything to keep from falling on my ass. My fingers closed around the arm of the zombie next to me. I did slow my fall, but I also pulled a zombie on top of me. I'm so good at this survival thing.

Nasty, rotten breath filled my face and those clicking teeth were way, way, way too close for comfort. But nothing happened. The dead guy just pushed down on my chest in an attempt to stand back up.

And then a gunshot was blasting through my ears and the ice next to my head exploded. That only pissed off the zombies, making the one on top of me go into a frenzy trying to get up. He scrambled on the ice, kicking and flailing uselessly. I managed to get a foot between us and kicked him off, sending him sliding into his friends' feet. It was like a messed up form of bowling.

I took my opportunity and scooted my happy little ass out of there. It was like a bunch of little kids were trying to get up and they just kept falling. The zombies' teeth were snapping up at Max where he was leaning out over the railing, my Glock clutched tight in his hands.

"You almost killed me!" I shouted up at him, "you can't try to be accurate from eight stories!" The zombies howled their agreement. Gonzalez looked stricken. I could see it, even from down here.

"You're one of them!" He cried, "you look like them!" I glanced over at the zombies. Though they were all dried out and dusty, each (former) man had distinct ashy circles around his eyes. And each one had skin just as cold as mine.

So that was how the zombies always found us. No amount of hiding could ever keep them away because they could see us like bright little fireworks. That was why the idiots were reaching up for Max and not following his human scent up the stairs. They could see the burning light of Max's heartbeat just like I could and that was what drew them in; what drew me in.

Which made me a zombie. Well, shit. An aware zombie, yes, but a zombie all the same. What the hell am I supposed to do now? Become the cure for all of mankind? (Actually, that's probably about right.)

Two more gunshots forced me out of my thoughts. They hit right at my feet.

"Get out, you shit!" Gonzalez was aiming the Glock at my head. I stepped back once and paused. "I said, get out! Don't give me that puppy dog crap, Adam! You're a zombie and there's no telling when you'll turn!" His voice almost cracked. Almost. When Max gets defensive, pissed, upset, etc., there's not really any fixing it until he cools down. Right then he was all three of those things.

So I turned and walked away. I could always find him again, right? Or I could go and find the others. Or I could be mistaken for a zombie and get shot. Or I could get shot anyways. Or I could turn into an actual zombie and get shot. Or I could get lost and never find my way back. Why did I have so many options?

And, even better, I had a grand total of nothing! No food, no clothes, no weapons! (My bat was still lying on the ground where I had slipped.) I guess I didn't really need any of those, but it's hard to remember that I'm dead now.

I walked and I walked and I walked. I never got tired or hungry or cold, I just walked. There was snow still falling, making the entire world oddly bright.

I had a decision to make as I was walkin' in a winter wonderhell. Max would cool off eventually and let me come back. Or would he? I was so used to playing on his unconditional care for me that I never stopped to ask if it truly was unconditional. I guess I'm a real piece of shit, then. Going back to Max was out of my options. I got the distance that I wanted and I also got the explosion that I didn't want.

Evan and Delirious were kind of out of the picture. (Just Evan by then, but ignorance is bliss.) They'd kill me on sight after last night's incident. I didn't want their company anyways. But I still kept their option open, even though the chance was microscopically small.

Chilled was entirely AWOL, but maybe I could find him now that I could see him through walls and junk.

Tyler, Craig, and Sark seemed to be my best bet. (Yet again, I didn't know a thing about poor Sark.) They had no idea about anything and would just assume I had woken up. But what about Max? I couldn't just be like "oh, you know, I'm just wandering the apocalypse alone because he wanted to stay at home." My alibi needs some serious work. Well, I had plenty of time to work on it. Team Tyler became my goal.

It took me three days to find the two of them. I just kept walking day and night and eventually caught up to them.

Two sparks were wandering a house down the street when they came within my sight. I looked slightly less like a zombie after looting a few houses, which sadly included one of my sacred places. I had a backpack of untouched food and water and blankets and other junk. Being dead is weird, man. Anyways, my three days of walking had allowed me to calm down and go back to a normal Adam mood. (If there's such thing.) Everything was going to be alright. The two sparks made me hopeful. Maybe I wouldn't need my Max alibi after all, if this was a pair of strangers. (My alibi was shit, by the way.)

It looked like the two people were scavenging just like I did. Check the closets, dig in the cabinets, glance in the attic, then you can get out. A few dead zombies lay in the street, so I knew these were active people and not just people trying to live in a dumpy house.

I followed them for a bit, keeping just a little ways down the street and playing zombie and hoping they weren't aggressive. They weren't. Both of their faces were covered, but one of them towered above the other, having to duck through doorways and skipping steps on porches. I don't know how I didn't realize who they were.

"Hi," I announced myself when my possible friends came out of yet another house. The two of them flinched, drawing their weapons out of backpack straps and instinctively stepping closer together.

"Wait, Adam?" Craig yanked his mask off and lowered his bat. "You're alive!" He hurried off of the porch and nearly tackled me in a hug.

"Yeah, I am," I laughed, "a little worse for wear, but I'm alive." (My trash excuse for how tired my ashy skin made me look)

"Dude, welcome," Tyler slapped my hand and brought me in for a brug. (Brug: one of those weird hugs that guys do when they grab hands and then slap shoulders for a second.) "How'd you find us?"

"Uh, pure luck and my superb tracking skills, obviously," I blinked. Something was missing. They both saw it in my face and exchanged a look.

"Um."

"Uh."

"Yeah."

They both stuttered and looked very uncomfortable. "Sark is gone," Tyler finally looked me in the eyes. "He froze to death," he explained. My stomach was full of rocks and my blood was lead and my bones weighed a thousand pounds. Yeah, we've all dealt with a whole lot of death since the Fall. That doesn't make it hurt less. I swallowed hard and nodded. We all awkwardly stood there scuffing our feet and scratching our necks.

"He's with Atlas now, I hope," I managed, "and he's happy and playing CS:Go in that big place in the sky," I smiled to myself. It might not hurt less, but at this point death is a release. Sark was in a better place. (Kill my already half-dead body for making that cliché.)

"Yeah," Craig looked a little brighter. Tyler is eternally stoic and impossible to read unless he's speaking.

"So, how did you get here? For real?" Tyler asked.

"I walked a lot and followed the trail of dead zombies," I shrugged.

"Do you not have a weapon?" He really looked at me for the first time. "You alright? You're looking a little worn out."

"It's been a long few days. I got attacked about three days ago and Max thought I got bit, so he kicked me out." Both of them tensed a little. I could see it in their heartbeats.

"Well, you're not a zombie after three days or whatever, so you're safe to us." Craig grinned at me.

"Max kicked you out?" (Shit, he thinks I'm lying.) "Why would he do that?" Tyler crossed his arms.

"Yes, he kicked me out. Self-preservation comes before I do, and it'd kill him to have to put me down." I felt so matter-of-fact and rehearsed, even though that was actually the truth.

"He has a point," Mini looked at his partner. The taller one eventually nodded and slung his crowbar back over his shoulders.

"Well, you can come with us, then." He said.

"Thanks," I breathed. "Where are we going, exactly?"

"Wherever our feet take us," Tyler started to move on to the next house.

"What about Max?" I felt like some high school girlfriend asking if we could go back.

"I don't particularly plan on going back to where we were," Tyler paused and looked at me. "So I don't know right now."

We kind of dropped the topic after that. I guess Max got what he wanted, which was no more of me. Well, not really. He wanted me, but he had to get rid of me. Life is so complicated sometimes.

That night we settled in a different apartment building. Still no electricity, still miles and miles away from home base, but it was a place to stay for a few days. There were plenty of apartments and goodies to find.

I curled up under a bunch of unnecessary blankets in one bedroom and pretended to sleep. I could have sworn that I heard some obscene noises coming from the room next to me, but I didn't dare to look. Seeing heartbeats would let me see exactly what was going on.

In all honesty, I'm not an ace at all. I'm terrified of attachment, not incapable of attraction. I don't know why, but the thought of a long-term relationship makes me squirm inside. My thing with Cathy lasted because she understood and she didn't push anything. I loved that girl. But the chaos during the Fall snatched her away from me. And I've gotten over her and created my asexual lie to keep my distance and keep from losing someone else. (Read: losing Max.) Because all good things come to an end, don't they?

Or maybe they didn't have to. As far as I know, I'm immortal. Or damn close to it. And I could be the cure-no, the evolution for man. No more dying of zombie infections, no more dying of Cholera, no more dying of human disease in general. No more starving, freezing, dying of thirst, none of it. I just proved that. The more I thought about it, the more sure I became.

The one problem was convincing the others. As soon as I admitted what I was, a crowbar would be lodged in my skull. Max already knew, but he was pissed and probably wouldn't see me the same. Or maybe I'm being melodramatic and not counting on how forgiving people can be. I don't know, really. Why do I keep coming back to Max?

I pulled the blankets over my head and waited the night out.


	4. Chapter 4

Finally, after a long night of staring at the wall, the sky started to turn gray. Mind you, it had been gray for several days, dumping snow once and simply hanging out afterwards. I didn't mind; the cold is my favorite. Who knows, maybe more snow was on the way. The sky simply turned a lighter shade of gray than the nighttime gray, which is also known as black. Those strange way-too-bright, watch-from-your-window, yellow light snow nights that everyone loves were gone. There wasn't enough light anymore. Nothing there for the snow to reflect. Sure, it was still light and you could see enough to find your way, but it also wasn't. No more seeing everything in a golden midnight glow: all the more seeing everything in gray.

I waited until Tyler and Craig were up and about until forcing myself to get up. I couldn't sleep but my bed was the comfiest thing I had experienced in a while. And I had to get dressed in all those layers I was accumulating. Great.

I shuffled into the living room and sat myself at the table. Shit, how was I going to get away with not eating?

"Morning," Tyler grunted from the couch. Craig was sitting on the counter and slowly stirring the contents of a thermos.

"You hungry?" Mini was already reaching for the food backpack. He pulled out a protein bar and tossed it to me. "Too bad if you're not," he finished.

"I prefer to eat on the road," I tossed it back to him.

"Did you sleep at all last night? You look just as tired," Tyler pointed out.

"Yeah, I slept fine," I rubbed at my nose. (Isn't that body language for lying?) "You two sleep alright?"

Craig's red cheeks told all. Tyler nodded, his pokerface impenetrable, "Luxury apartments are always the best option," he said.

I shrugged, "Maybe. Rich people tend to get food delivered more than they like to cook, and what they do cook is with fresh ingredients."

"He has a point," Craig added, "though any clothing we find would be nice."

"Nice for staying in and not for fighting," I scratched the back of my neck and felt at the scars. "That clothing will be delicate."

"Dammit, Adam, we're trying to stay positive," Mini raked a hand through his hair.

"I'm trying to be realistic," I retorted.

"Chill out," Tyler butted in, "we'll find what we need." He shot both of us a look. Craig pouted for a moment before his usual optimism kicked in. "We need to get going," Tyler slung his backpack on.

I pushed away from the table and zipped my coat up to my throat.

"Wait, that crap on your neck healed," Mini said. It wasn't a question. "I thought this happened like ten days ago," he walked over and tugged my collar down. "There's no way," he spoke.

"Yeah, it's weird," I brushed his hand away and scrambled for an excuse. "I guess it healed so quick because I was in a coma?" Tyler was watching me closely. "I don't think it was as bad as it looked."

"Dude, you're freezing cold," Craig pressed a hand to my forehead.

"Am I?" I tried to suppress my rising panic. They were going to find out and that was going to be the end of Adam Montoya. I could already see Tyler's fingers wrapping around his crowbar.

"No wonder you're so pale and tired," Mini shifted his hand to my throat and felt for my pulse. He paused. I swallowed thickly. "I'm no expert, but I think your heart should be beating," he whispered to me. Tyler was rigid, staring holes into me. His heart rate was rising faster and faster. I closed my fingers around a bat that was lying on the table.

"Yeah, it probably should be," I watched Tyler for any warning of an attack. If it came down to it, there was no way I could keep him off. He was too big, too strong, and I was too small and inexperienced at fighting.

Craig saw what was coming and stepped back. "Woah, woah, woah, you two need to chill," he waved his hands at us. I forced myself to relax and back away, just out of Tyler's massive reach.

"You want to tell us what's up, Adam?" Tyler looked like an animal, vicious and protective of what was his.

"Um, yeah, so I was in a coma and I woke up and my heart never really woke up," I gave my most winning smile, "and I came to find you to see if one of you lucky boys could wake it up."

"God, you're disgusting," Tyler relaxed while Mini burst into laughter. "You taking over the job of pervert for Sark?"

"You know it," I winked at him as relief washed over me. Crisis averted.

"Craig, do you even know how to find a pulse?" He turned to the shorter man.

"Apparently not," Mini slapped his own cheeks. "Besides, it's so stinking cold in here that it's no wonder you're freezing," he seemed almost relieved too. I wonder why.

"I do miss the electricity," Tyler said absentmindedly. He snapped out of whatever thoughts he was in and started for the door. "Alright, no more time to waste," he pushed the door open and stepped out into air that wasn't any colder than the air inside.

God, we waste a whole lot of time. We spent several days on that apartment complex and the surrounding townhomes. I won't go into the details, but it was some boring shit. No zombies around, no survivors, no good food, no durable clothing. What Craig and Tyler saw as a treasure trove, I saw as garbage. Well, it would have been lots of goodies if the apocalypse hadn't occurred. Gold watches, diamond necklaces, Armani suits, Ferrari keys, fancy kitchens, huge penthouses, all kinds of junk. All turned into worthless trash. Now the valuables were food and warm clothing and weapons.

Quite the change, if you ask me.

During this time some other important things were happening. By this point, Anthony was either doing pretty okay or he was dead. Evan was mourning the loss of his boyfriend and actually ended up finding another gang, which he joined for a time.

His joining that group of survivors actually saved his life. I'm pretty sure the dudes he found were the same dudes that me and Max ran into after the hospital incident. What happened was:

Evan felt the exhaustion of days of wandering and wasting with very little sleep and even less food. His lips were blue and chapped, his fingers and toes numb, and his eyes red and bleary. His clothing wasn't thick enough to keep anything out and he lacked supplies. And, eventually, his body gave out on him. He collapsed in the middle of the street and laid there in the snow for a while until a few men stumbled upon him. Literally. They quickly picked him up and hurried him to their home base. And so Evan woke up wrapped in blankets and curled up in front of a fireplace.

He quickly sat up and took in the rest of the room. An older man was snoozing in an armchair on his right. "What happened?" Evan asked.

The man jerked awake and shrugged, "some of the scouts found you half-dead in the street. What's your name?"

"Ev-Vanoss," the gamer stumbled.

His new acquaintance gave him a strange look. "Well, Vanoss, I'm Wilhelm." His voice had a bit of an accent, now that Evan thought about it. "Welcome to our little family," he smiled warmly.

Fong met the rest of the group, totaling thirteen men and five women. Wilhelm turned out to be the "godfather" of the entire group.

Of course, Evan was a lucky SOB to have even been found. But he was even luckier to be found by Wilhelm's crew. I guarantee that there were other gangs around with no such sympathy. Vanoss could have been Vanoss stew or Vanoss corpse.

I'll explain what happened to the rest of them later.

Max, on the other hand, experienced a little itty bit of a problem. The pipes froze. Running the heat on the entire 8th floor did nothing for him; the ice wouldn't budge. So he had to resort to bottled water for everything, which, as you know, isn't infinite. (Neither is tap water, but you get the point.)

He discovered it when he was attempting to shower. The water just wouldn't come out. So he trekked to the maintenance basement and very quickly found his problem.

"Shit," he whispered to himself. Even more shit was the zombies who could now follow him. They busted their way into the basement and forced him to fight them, spending precious bullets to save himself. But he didn't make it out clean. He caught his foot on a pipe and managed to very quickly trash his knee. (A pop is a really bad thing, right?) So Max had to practically crawl up to 802 and find some crutches. 9 flights of stairs is grueling as is; he didn't need a busted knee to go along with it.

Being the (lovable) idiot he is, Gonzalez didn't think anything of his knee. Until he tried to put weight on it. (He found the crutches and THEN tried to walk?) He found himself flopped on the carpet. So he forced himself to crutch to 804 and didn't even think to mess with ice or elevation like a normal person; he went straight to bed. And woke up with a knee the size of a very very large grapefruit. Or maybe a small melon. And it was a nice purple color. (I think he tore his ACL. But that's also kind of the only knee injury I know of.) And he couldn't do anything with it.

Max ended up spending a few hours crutching around with a backpack to carry supplies until he had his room stocked up so that he didn't have to go anywhere. Then he went back to bed and slept because crutches are so flipping exhausting.

It kills me to write about Max. I guess that needs an explanation because I told you, like, a little while ago that I kind of felt some stuff for him.

This is a really bad tangent, but everyone has his own faults. And, on top of that, everyone refuses to admit them. Who wants to say, "yo, I was wrong," or "sorry, I have a problem?" No one! But everyone can still see it.

For example: you've seen how unforgiving and cold Max can turn when he's threatened and betrayed. However, you ask him about it and he explains it off as self-preservation and denies his severity.

Or there's Sark and his total lack of a filter. He was the kindest, most caring, and most selfless guy among us, but the things that came out of his mouth had little to no thought put into them.

Evan? He's cocky, reckless, and 100% an asshole. Same thing for Jonathan, just a whole lot more homicidal. He killed Marcel, obviously, but it's also highly likely that he was involved in Brock's sudden death in a street fight with a gang.

Of course, those are the big, glaring faults. Who knows what the other ones are.

Now I'm sure that you're wondering: who does this Adam think he is, talking trash about his friends? Don't worry, I'm getting there.

Me, I'm a lot of things. Self-centered is one of them. I'll play whatever cards I need to in order to win. (Have you ever seen me play prop hunt?) And I'll go so far as to use people (Max) and lie to them to benefit myself. I also, as I said a while back, don't understand emotions at all. So I ignore them in myself and others.

That's how I manipulated Max. I played on and used his care for me to help myself along. I knew all about his feelings for me and I ignored them. And he knew it. But I gave him just enough to keep him attached.

Don't get me wrong, he was my favorite person. We did everything together; we survived together. I'm such a jerk that I used my best friend.

When he told me I replied with my little sexuality thing and that was that: nothing awkward, none of that. We were still best friends. But I suddenly had his devotion to play with and use to my advantage. He would do anything for me. And I gave him little morsels in return. He doted on me, protected me, loved me, and I used him and gave him next to nothing in return.

And then I got too close. As soon as I woke up something had changed. So I tried to step back and get away, but the damage was done. I can't use someone's attraction if I reciprocate it. Then Max did the best thing for himself and kicked me out. I knew he wanted me worse than ever, but there was something else in his eyes that I never mentioned. He wanted freedom. He was tired of the games. He was tired of his confliction. He got rid of me so that he could grow again.

And now I'm admitting all of this because I'm being crushed by guilt. The kind of guilt that weighs you down and makes your entire being writhe in disgust and self-hate. I can't take it.

Who's the asshole now?

I guess it goes to say that none of us were very happy for a while. Except for maybe Tyler and Craig because they had each other. But even Craig was starting to lose hope. Because really, how does anyone make it out of the apocalypse alive?

"I miss the electricity," Craig said one night. Another snowstorm was blowing through, leaving us to huddle together in the living room.

Me and Tyler looked at him. He never complained. "Yeah," I eventually said, casting my eyes down. Tyler sighed.

"Do you miss them?" Mini pulled his coat on tighter. His eyes were so, so tired. I shrugged.

Tyler spoke first, "Sometimes," he stared at his hands, "sometimes I don't. Sometimes I wish I was one of them so that I could be done with this hell."

Before the Fall words like that would be hopeless and pessimistic. Wishing to die? But now that the world had gone to shit, that was what everyone felt.

"What if there was a way to survive?" Craig brightened just a little at the thought. "Like, a way to get the zombies to ignore you? Then you could go anywhere you wanted and you could grow food and fix things and actually thrive."

I looked at the floor and at the mean little zombie lights below us. "Maybe there is a way," I murmured.

Now it was my turn to be the shocker. Tyler shook his head, "There's no way."

"There is," I felt my confidence building. They trusted me now; I had been with them for close to a week. "I know there is. I've done it," I glanced between the two of them. "And there's no need to grow crops any more. I've evolved," I finished.

"Evolution takes, like, a bazillion years," Tyler frowned, "and I know you're a zombie magnet. One of them almost killed you."

"The virus is the evolution," I shrugged the blankets off of my shoulders. "It lets those humans go on forever without food, heat, or even water, just at the price of a working brain."

"You saying you're infected?" Tyler's heart rate was rising, his chest glowing brighter and brighter.

"My brain still works, doesn't it?" I tapped my head.

"Adam, you're a crazy son of a bitch," Tyler pinched the bridge of his nose.

"How did you come up with all that?" Craig seemed a little more open to my idiocy.

"Um, I had a lot of time to think when I was trying to find you guys. I walked for three days and nights," I watched his eyes widen. "That's kind of how I caught up to you so fast."

"So your heart actually isn't beating," Mini mumbled. I nodded. God, playing this savior part is weird. It's like a job interview where you're a crazy man if you don't get the job.

"Max knows?" Tyler spoke up, "That's why he kicked you out?"

"Yeah," I sighed.

Craig started to dig around in his backpack. He drew a dagger out. "You guys want to be blood brothers?" A stupid grin was across his face, "It'll be totally rad, dudes." Tyler rolled his eyes.

Convincing them was a whole lot easier than I expected.

So we pricked fingers and did something I hadn't done since elementary school.


End file.
